Audrey, lovely Audrey
by suddenlysomewherethatsgreen
Summary: The story of Audrey's life up to the events of the musical told in first person. Rated T for some adult themes.


Daddy left because of me. Mama never came out and said it directly but I knew it was true. A good deal of this interpretation had to do with the timing. Had my mama had a one night stand which resulted in a daughter and she never saw him again I would have felt much better. Had when I was five or ten he met some other woman and fled from us out of the blue I would have understood. But not much else can be said when a man leaves like he did. I was only a week old, so it had to have been my own fault. It had to be my cry or my face or the fact that I wasn't a boy that set him off. I never met him. Mama didn't speak of him often. She kept his last name though. I always wondered why that was. Maybe she was just hoping he'd come back one day. So I was called Audrey Fulquard. I always planned on bringing him back. As a child I'd find him on the street or at the store and bring him home with me. Mama would be so surprised. He'd be happy to see me and how much I've grown. But that never happened.

Since daddy left, mama had to work. Again, being the nuisance that I was as an infant and a child this was difficult. She left me with the neighbors often or with her friends. I didn't like her friends. They smelt of funny perfume and cigarettes. Even more so than her. I didn't mind staying with my neighbors. The people down the hall from us one year had a scottish terrier. Pets weren't allowed in the building but they snuck one in anyway. But because of that he didn't get to go out very often. I thought it was sad to keep an animal like that trapped in one place at all times. It never got out to see the world. It couldn't be happy here. It was trapped. I didn't realize the symbolism between that dog and myself until I got older. From then on I always wanted a dog, but Skid Row wasn't the place for one.

Mama's friends never really engaged with me very often when looking after me. They'd sometimes tell me things or give me advice. Things that went over my head like, "A pretty face will only ever get you so far" and "Do yourself a favor and forget about men right now" and "Don't expect much outta life 'less you want to be disappointed". I failed at these last two. But I couldn't help but at least dream for more. One of the ladies brought magazines with her to read while I napped or played, though I never wanted to when she brought them. The pastel pages were so intriguing. "Better Homes And Gardens" read the title. It was a magazine full of dreams. Tucked in those pages were the things in life I never had. A house, a loving family, and all things green. This was where my foolish fantasies first came to be. I saw myself amongst those pages. I had a house to myself. The garden was in bloom and there had never been grass more green. How I adored green. And that's exactly where I planned to go, and in my mind I did whenever I needed a break from Skid Row.

When I got a little older I was able to go to school instead of mull around all day. I might have had a decent time in school if I hadn't been me. Once I opened my mouth it was all over for me. "Pipsqueak" was what they called me. I didn't realize there was something wrong with my voice up until then. Just another thing on a long list. The names got progressively worse and less innocent as the years went on. I kept to myself most of the time, though I really didn't have any other choice.

My career as a foolish dreamer continued at the age of 11 with the release of the movie Cinderella. Money could be spared for movies, and I saw that one seven times. Stupid when I look back now, but I wanted to be her. I saw myself as Cinderella. I wanted my ragged clothes to turn into a gown of silver. I wanted to spin around on glass slippers. And I really really wanted a Prince Charming. The two of us would climb into my pumpkin and ride off somewhere that's green. Far far from Skid Row. But my fairy godmother never showed up.

12 was the age I was first cat called. It surprised me more than it should have. I still thought of myself as a child and looked like a child. But in their eyes I wasn't. I wasn't even Audrey in their eyes. I was an object. 12 was the age people started seeing me as an object, and they never stopped after that.

When I was 15 it was decided that an education was a luxury neither mama nor me could afford for me to have. I started working full time at diner in Skid Row. Being my first job I assumed I would work in the back scrubbing the floors or doing the dishes. But that's not what they had me do. They gave me a waitress job out front. My first day the manager gave me a pair of black high heels and a tube of bright red lipstick saying "you're gonna need it". It wasn't me that got this job. It was my body and face. I was still an object. But at that point I didn't care so much. I was growing used to it.

Since I had filled out there have been men in my life whether I wanted them there or not. I never thought of myself as someone's girlfriend and I doubt they ever thought of me that way either. Though I cried for hours each time one of them left I doubt I could remember all their names now if I tried. I'd rather not speak of the escapades of men in my early life, and I would rather not admit when they first began. I wasn't always willing but "no" never got me far. It doesn't matter so much anymore. And admitting that part of the truth doesn't erase it or change the times I didn't say no. It hurts to admit but there were quite a few. Either they got bored or I didn't mean as much as I thought I did. But I didn't like being alone. I had been for so long you'd think I'd be used to it. But I never wanted to be.

I didn't have so much of a choice when I turned 24. That's when I lost mama. The one consistent thing in my life. I lost our apartment that summer too, along with another job. The guy I was steady with at the time let me crash for a few weeks but after a while he got bored with me as well and all but threw me out. I needed an apartment. I found an ad for one in the paper. A one bedroom on 1314 Skid row. Good enough. They let me move in the same day. But then came the need for work. I didn't notice the flower shop when I first moved in. It blended in with the surrounding brown buildings and didn't have much that made it seem special. But oh was it special on the inside. How I loved green.

I didn't go in there looking for a job one day, just to say hello to the flowers. But I suppose fate had its way with toying with me. I think going into the shop that day might have been the first right thing I had ever done in my life, because that's how I met Seymour. Silly how we met, if you think about it. What happened was I was so enchanted by the display of green that I didn't hear him come up behind me. When he spoke to ask me if I needed help finding anything, it startled me enough that I jumped, which startled him as well, and the vase he was holding fell from his grip and shattered at our feet.

I don't know why I felt the urge to help him. But I guess I saw myself in the fear of his eyes. I took the blame and told the manager, Mr. Mushnik, that it was me who broke the vase, not him, and that I'd pay for it. He didn't believe me though. But that's how we got to talking. I mentioned the browning flowers and he mentioned the arrangement consultant had quit the week prior. I walked out of there with a job.

Seymour was very different than anyone who had spent time with me before. First of all, when he spoke to me or I spoke to him he looked me in the eye. That threw me off quite a lot. It was a form of respect I never felt before. And he called me "Audrey". Not "Pipsqueak" or "dollface" or "whore". I liked that a lot. I liked being "Audrey". I was shy but he didn't ignore me. He did most of the talking until I was comfortable enough to speak back. I wasn't allowed to with others most of the time before, and was almost always told to shut up. He never did, not even once. Seymour spoke a lot and stammered and rambled. It was actually adorable. It was almost as if he were making up for lost time. I couldn't imagine the kind of life he must have had, but I think I might have been his first friend. At least that's how he spoke to me. And he was almost always happy to see me. When I'd walk into the shop every morning he'd perk up with a "Hi Audrey!" as if he was surprised I'd come back.

It didn't take long for me to fall for him, stupid as I am. It was just a setup for another heartbreak. Seymour shouldn't be with someone like me. We're too different. He was sweet, kind, innocent, all the things I knew I wasn't. I was just Audrey. I didn't deserve him. I knew the exact kind of girl who did deserve him. She was pretty and smart and cooked like Betty Crocker. That wasn't me. I was some piece of Skid Row trash. I was tainted and had my years of servicing men in the past to prove that. He should never have to be with someone like me. The fact that he even looked my way as to be my friend was shocking enough. But I didn't want to bring him down. I feared he'd get bored with me like everyone else, and I couldn't bare the thought of losing him in my life. Just having him around was special. But I couldn't help but fall. He made me feel so good.

There was no job I had had in my life that I liked more than arranging the flower's at Mushnik's, but posies only made so much money. Skid Row had ways of making cash on the side. I'd had to dip into some of these ways in the past, but at this time I was lucky enough to just be dancing. It might seem odd to call that lucky but I had resorted to worse before. It was called "The Gutter" and was exactly that. A wasteland of faux feathers and glitter and skin. The lights were kept low but the spotlights shined harshly. Somehow the floor was always sticky. But it was a living. I started there near the end of my first winter at Mushnik's.

Late spring was when I met Orin. A late evening at The Gutter and he offered to buy me a drink. I didn't say no though I doubt it would have made a difference to him if I did. If he hadn't bought me that drink though, or that fourth or fifth, I like to think that maybe I wouldn't have let my guard down. Though that really doesn't matter now. The next morning I dusted myself off and began to head back to my apartment. But I turned around like an idiot and said, "Will I see you again?"

It was shameful the way I went from one job to the next. After a long night of men slobbering over me and Orin touching me I would head over to the flower shop and Seymour would still smile. Oh if only he knew. He wouldn't smile at me if he knew what I was or could see me then. It was during these days I almost wished he'd be with someone else. Maybe if a nice girl caught his eye I wouldn't feel as bad. Then I'd know there was nothing I could do anyway. It wouldn't be my fault that I couldn't be with him. But he never did. During that summer girls came into the shop much prettier than me but Seymour never once tried to catch their glance.

I suppose Orin's money and jealousy came with benefits because not too long after we had gotten together he made sure that I didn't have to work at The Gutter. Whatever his motives behind it, I was grateful.

Soon after Orin had stopped being so kind, if I ever could call him that. But that still wasn't fair of me to do what I did. The first time was when Orin had me handcuffed to his bedpost. I lay there as he kissed me, and touched me. He was rough but I wasn't about to say anything. I'd just have to deal and get used to it. But I couldn't. I wanted to cry between each nip on my lower lip. I remembered what I used to do as a child. I imagined somewhere else. Closing my eyes I pictured my somewhere green. Since this was my imagination I added flowers. Flowers I had usually seen at Mushnik's. My mind began to trail back to work, coming in this very morning and seeing that smile. Suddenly it wasn't Orin's lips but Seymour's that I was kissing. It wasn't Orin's hands touching me but Seymour's, though I'd imagine him to be much gentler. I imagined Seymour touching me this way, softly, longing. And suddenly I wanted more.

I wish I could say that was the last time I pictured Seymour while I was with Orin. I felt just awful every time. I was Orin's girl. His. It was like cheating. I shouldn't be thinking of some other guy. But I couldn't help it. This fantasy got me through. It felt different. With Orin it was just sex but with Seymour it was making love. Thinking about it, nobody had ever made love to me before. It was always a way of serving themselves. Loveless and hollow. Sex, not love. Nobody ever loved me, but in my fantasy he did. I'd always manage to catch myself before I cried out for Seymour. I don't even want to think what would have happened to me if I had. But then I'd open my eyes and instead of seeing a pair of blue grey eyes, they were cold, and then the reality would sink back in.

The only time I remember the reason for Orin hitting me was the first time. I had stayed too long at Mushnik's and was late for a date.

Climbing onto his bike I'd said, "I'm sorry, Orin." A blow struck the side of my head before I could even see him raise his hand.

"You call me Doctor, ya got that?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?!"

"Yes Doctor."

I tried to correct my behavior and make as few slip ups as possible. That summer was the longest in my memory. Working all day and then spending the evenings on Orin's bike. My bruises slowly became more visible and the excuse that I was clumsy was becoming less believable.

If ever there was a time where I thought I'd might one day be with Seymour, reality had a way of always rearing its ugly head.

I asked him one evening if he could grab my purse as we were closing up. He returned from the back room with my clutch in his hand when he tripped and spilled its contents all over the floor. My handcuffs glistened in the light from the shop's lamps. Seymour picked them up with a creased brow look of confusion and handed them back to me. I blushed like a rose. Sweet as he was, he never asked.

I wondered about Cinderella. What would she had done? I had waited my entire life for my Prince Charming and couldn't have him now. There was no one else in the world I wanted next to me in that pumpkin carriage besides Seymour. I wondered what would Cinderella do if her prince hadn't seen her in her silver ball gown, but in her everyday rags. Her Prince would turn away from her in disgust. He'd see that she was this dirty orphan and not the perfect Princess he thought her to be. I couldn't let that happen. Besides, I'm no Cinderella.

I swear I did what I could to push Seymour away or out of my mind. I thought about quitting, and didn't show up to work for three days before I realized this wouldn't work. I missed him. I tried ignoring him at work when I had the chance but I always caught myself foolishly gazing and dreaming.

The worst thing I did was I tried to be cruel to him. He tried to talk to me and I snubbed him off. Not because I wanted to. I wanted him to get the message that I had no interest and that he should move along. It wasn't working at first and he kept asking me if everything was alright.

He followed me into the back office before I turned to him and said in my most fierce voice that I never used, "Yes! Yes I'm fine! Just shut up!"

He stood frozen staring at me for a moment processing this. I saw his eyes progressively grow sadder. He looked hurt, as if I had struck him. I clasped my hand over my mouth.

"I-I'm so sorry, Seymour," I muttered behind my palm.

I closed my eyes in fear of weeping. I didn't want Seymour to see me cry, not now.

"I don't know what's come ova' me. I didn't mean it. I swear. I'm so so sorry."

He sensed my sadness and took a step forward. I saw him reach his hand out to touch my arm before pulling back. I wonder why he did that.

"_Are_ you okay though?"

I brushed an artificial smile across my face. I was the one who didn't hesitate to reach out. I placed my hand on the side of his arm.

"I'm fine, Seymour."

I saw him briefly glance at my hand before looking back up at me. I've always wondered what would have happened if Mr. Mushnik hadn't come in. I never even _thought _about trying to being cruel to him ever again after that.

It was that Autumn when I began to really lose my mind. I kept wondering when it would be too much. Maybe one of these days Orin's bike would be going too fast when I fell off and I wouldn't be able to get back up again. Maybe he'd knock me out cold so hard I'd never wake up. I tried not to think these things, but at the same time did nothing to prevent them. I hated to say it, but where they really so bad? I thought that if someone did ever love me, they wouldn't hurt me. And they for sure wouldn't kill me. But then I began to think about how it would feel to be the one knocking him down. How satisfying it would be to shove him back, but I couldn't imagine what would happen afterward. Maybe fate would take care of him for me. Maybe someone would corner him in an alley and take off with his wallet while he bled out onto the pavement. Maybe in a bar fight someone would knock him on the head with a bottle just right. Maybe it'd be something simple and pathetic. One of his patients would shove him and he'd fall on his drill or the knob would fall off his nitrous oxide mask and he'd go out in a fit of laughter. Is it bad to wish these things?

But if Orin and I ever did separate for whatever reason I knew exactly where I would have to go. Exactly where my ass was headed back to. That wasteland of faux feathers, glitter, and skin. It was something I had to keep reminding myself. Because whatever hell I was living, if I ever got out another awaited me.

It pains me to say it but our shop is going under. We had never had many customers but they've begun to stop coming completely. I've seen Mr. Mushnik grow more fed up. He can't close it down though. He just can't. I wouldn't get to see that smile every morning. Maybe if he just tried something new. Seymour for sure thinks we should. He's grown himself a jungle of exotic plants, and I suggested we display and advertise them. He knew exactly which one he would, if he gets the courage to bring up the idea. It sure was strange and interesting. I have never seen anything like it before and he says neither has he. I told him that means he gets to name it now. Name it whatever he wants. There's something about it though. Something… bizarre.


End file.
